Osmosis
by Midnight Caller
Summary: The pain in his knee was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. (JS)


Osmosis

By Midnight Caller

Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a big fan of Without a Trace named Me.  Me didn't own Without a Trace or Jack or Sam or any other characters.  Me borrowed from Hank's property but she always gave them back... usually with messier hair than when she took them, but really, where's the harm in that? 

Rated: R 

Spoilers: slight spoilers for season 1, up to around episode 12 or so

Summary: The pain in his knee was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.  (Post-RST, J/S pairing)

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you to Eolivet for the endless encouragement and beta read.  I say you rock all the time but that's only because it's troo. :)  Thanks to Devanie for holding my hand as I found a title, and to Maple Street, of course, the forum with decorum. ;) 

*****

His knee ached.  

For 24 years it had ached, through marriage and childbirth and his first week as an FBI agent.  When it flared up it reminded him of that day long ago, when he had struck the ground with terrifying force, an unimaginable hurt suddenly shooting up through his leg, and knowing right there in that instant that his life had changed forever.         

Sometimes it was the weather, the changing pressure in the air making his joints swell, limiting his movements.  The ache came from an indeterminate place behind his kneecap, a throbbing that cramped up the muscles above and below his knee, seizing up his entire leg with pain until the weather changed or enough medicine was ingested.  

Sometimes it was the activity.  Too much sitting.  Too much standing.  Too much running.  If he smacked his knee into something, that was enough to set it off.  He'd turn his back to whoever happened to be around, and bite his lip, shutting his eyes until the stabbing lulled to a moderate tenderness.  Kate used to run toward him and throw her arms around his leg, but since the day he scared her with a loud, painful yelp, she'd waited for him to pick her up for a hug.  

Sometimes it was the stress.  Combined with the caffeine he wasn't supposed to drink, his tendons tightened, and his muscles twitched, and his kneecap got caught in the middle, with nowhere to go and nothing to support it.  Then he couldn't hide it in his walk, the ache manifesting as a limp that altered his gait and made him feel like a hobbling cripple.

Today, it was some combination of all of those, and he shuffled into his office trying to ignore it.  The pain in his knee was nothing compared to the ache in his heart and the lump in his throat that he was desperately trying to choke down.  

He sat at his desk and raised his eyes to the woman in the chair across from him.  She clutched at her purse, fingers that had softened with age turning white as she anticipated what she was about to hear.  

She knew.  But he had to say it.

He started with a swallow, and then a clearing of his throat, but it didn't take away the rasp that was still present when he began to speak.  

"Mrs. Dearborn..." He had to pause when she shut her eyes, as if to brace herself.  

She knew.  But he had to say it.  He had to.  

"We found your daughter."  

The words themselves could have meant good news.  But the tone of his voice... she knew.  Still, he had to say it. 

"This is never easy," he admitted, and she nodded.  

The guilt suddenly hit him twofold; he hadn't been able to find this poor woman's daughter in time, and now, somehow, he had made this moment about him.  Before he could say anything else to make it worse, he simply added, "I'm sorry."

Her knuckles slowly regained their color as she released her purse, the bag falling weakly into her lap.  

"Have you ever been to Disneyland, Agent Malone?" she asked, a strange smile crossing her features.  

He was slightly taken aback with the sudden change of topic, but he managed to hide his surprise.  "No," he answered.  "My daughters want to go, though."  

"You should take them."

He nodded, hoping he had hidden the involuntary wince that crossed his features when his knee twitched.

"You know it's nearly fifty dollars to get into there these days... when I took my son, years ago, it was... well, much cheaper."  She laughed lightly before her smile faded.  "If he had lived, he would have been forty-two."  She interlaced her fingers in her lap and stared at the wall behind him, slipping into an old memory that would never go away.     

Burying a child was something he never wanted to live through; burying two children seemed too unbearable to even think about.  He wondered how some people were able to pick themselves up and move on with their lives, if they chalked it up to the will of God, or fate, or just bad luck... how they somehow found their own way to continue living the twisted cycle into which we were all born.  

Maybe they just accepted it more than he did.  He understood that anything can happen to anyone at any time, but maybe they acknowledged that no one is ever prepared for it, but everyone has to go through it sooner or later.  They say you can't predict the future, but there is one thing everyone can be certain of: finality.  

His hand idly stroked his knee as he watched her from where he sat.  She moved with a grace he had lost long ago, no unsupported kneecaps or swollen tendons to slow her poise or fluidity.  For a moment, he tried to imagine her far in the future, but she was virtually unchanged aside from some lines in her face and the faded color of her hair.  Some people just never seemed to succumb to time the way others did.  Maybe they just didn't dwell in the past; that seemed to age people faster than anything.    

She was talking, but he was missing most of it.  

_If he had lived... _

"Jack."

Samantha's voice brought him back, and he blinked, looking up to see her standing over him, a mug in each hand.  She creased her brow and cocked her head, sitting on the table a few feet in front of him.  

"You okay?" she asked, setting the mugs on the surface next to her. 

He continued to slide a hand over his knee, the ache spreading down to his feet and up to his back, and he stiffened as it seemed to creep up to his throat and chest.  The more he tried to ignore it, the worse it became, and it suddenly felt more stifling than he'd ever experienced, and he dropped open his mouth to gulp larger breaths of air.    

She suddenly frowned, moving to sit next to him, and covered his hand with her own.  "Did you take anything?" she asked softly, rubbing her fingers against his. 

He nodded, slowly, catching his breath.  There is no pill to make this go away, he wanted to tell her.  He knew she wasn't immune to the emotional pitfalls that came with this job, but he silently hoped that she would never have to endure anything like this; it was bad enough he was here inflicting the residual effects upon her.  

He didn't just want to protect her from the obvious physical pain, but from the way years and years on this job had worn away at him deep inside.  He thought he might become numb to it after a while, even though that seemed horrible in its own way, but he was discovering that it didn't work that way, either; it just piled higher and higher until he could barely see beyond it to anything else in his life.  

He could still see her.  He could sometimes see his daughters.  His wife had all but vanished behind the hurt he couldn't keep away.  

Maybe that's just how it worked.  Maybe there was no way to immunize yourself to it, and you coped in your own way, whatever that may be.  It changed you, sometimes without you even knowing.  His family had been pushed aside for other families, for grieving mothers and wives and fathers and daughters, and a woman for whom he wasn't supposed to feel anything more than a professional attachment.  But that's how it had happened, that's how he had learned to deal, and maybe he wasn't strong enough to change that.  

Or maybe, he just didn't want to.  

He intertwined their fingers against his knee and moved his head to the side to look at her.  She gazed back, casually at first, but then he knew the sadness in his eyes had given him away, and her brow wrinkled with concern.  

  
"Jack, what?" she asked softly.  

He answered with a small shake of his head.  "It's nothing."  The worry remained etched into her forehead even as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

He knew she wasn't falling for it though, and tried to avoid her relentless gaze, the eyes that wouldn't accept his answer as the truth, and then he felt her lean against him, her head on his shoulder.  His fingers continued their light massage on his knee, and he could feel her eyes on his hand, but he chose to ignore it, and titled his head until it rested against hers.

A few moments passed before she stirred, and then he stiffened when he felt her breath on his neck, tickling his flesh.  She moved again, lightly touching her lips to his skin, and he shut his eyes against the sensation, his breath suddenly surging, its steady beat replaced by an erratic thumping in his ears.  

She shifted on the couch and let go of his hand, bringing it to the back of the couch to steady herself as she leaned over him.  Working her way up the side of his neck, she heard him breathing heavier, and could feel his pulse racing beneath her lips as she retraced her steps back down to his collar before drawing a line across his throat with her tongue.  He groaned just as she brought their lips together for a lingering, fluid kiss.  

Eventually, she pulled back, moving her mouth to his ear, sucking his earlobe between her teeth.  He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes, catching hers as she slid off the couch to the floor and placed a hand on each one of his knees.  

Curiosity flashed across his features as she slowly moved her hands up and down his thighs, her eyes never leaving his.  The curiosity quickly darkened to arousal when her hands stopped at his belt buckle.  They both watched as she deftly unfastened the button, but then he suddenly grabbed her wrist, and her eyes shot up toward him.  

He was so breathless he could barely form the words.  "What are you—"             

"It's okay," she whispered, gently running a hand over his bad knee.  For a moment, it really did seem to soothe away the ache, and he shut his eyes briefly, reveling in the relief.    

As he opened his eyes, she bent her head and placed a light kiss on his kneecap.  He slid a hand down to cover hers, and she brushed her lips against the tops of his fingers as well before shifting her focus back to the top of his pants.  

With rapt attention, he watched her inch down the zipper, and then she moved her hand over him, her touch warm and gentle through his boxers.  His breath came in short pants of air as he struggled for control, even as she continued to touch him.  

When she'd removed the final barrier, his eyes slipped shut and his head fell back against the couch.  It was all so good, so good... her skin on his skin, one hand still gently rubbing his knee, the warmth of her so close... and then in an almost violent motion, his body jerked and he sucked in a loud hiss of air as he attempted to sort out the overwhelmingly hot, moist sensation of her mouth around him.  

"S-S... Sam..." Her name barely escaped his lips on a breath he strained to release, and was followed immediately by several desperate gasps for air.  

He rejoined their fingers and squeezed tightly, trying to tell her through incoherent mumbles and labored breaths how much he wanted it and needed it, needed her and her touch and her warmth and the simple comfort her gesture provided.

Somehow, she knew; he could feel it in the way she responded to him, knowing what he needed from the lilt of a shaky exhale or the slight pressure he applied from his hand to hers.  In some recess of his mind, he wondered if anything he ever did for her would adequately convey his gratitude or appreciation for everything she did, for everything she made him feel, if she would ever truly understand what she meant to him.    

His other hand sought out her hair, his fingers caressing the strands as she continued her movements, producing more inarticulate rasps from him.  He pressed his head further into the back of the couch as he felt himself slipping further and further away, the ache in his knee now a seemingly distant and dull throb that had no chance against the tremendously overpowering sensations that his nerves now struggled to process.             

But somewhere amidst the heat and her mouth and the sound of her name on his lips, he knew he didn't deserve this, shouldn't feel this, couldn't allow himself the luxury of receiving anything when they had lost so much more.   All of them.  

_If he had lived..._

Becky and Samir and Annie and Shelly Dearborn and all those who had to go on without them... It was selfish, he knew, to even feel like he had lost a bit of them as well, but he had.  He felt it every time he woke up and every time he fell asleep, and in the hours in-between when life forced him to reevaluate everything he'd ever done wrong.  

So how... how could he be here in this instant with her, accepting so much, allowing himself to forget those he had lost, just for one... selfish... moment... of happiness...

With the intense, fiery bliss came an urgent wave of pain, rushing through him with a sudden, acute intensity.  It passed through his heart, across his knee, down to the depths of his stomach, until it finally left his body in a despairing cry of half-pleasure, half-pain, as he realized that though it would never really leave him, he desperately wanted to remember how it felt to be rid of it for just a little while.  

His eyes barely opened when he felt her rise up and move close to him, her legs now straddling his, her hands on his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the moisture he couldn't hold back.  His arms encircled her now, squeezing, his hands grasping her clothes with a desperation that scared him.  She simply stroked his hair and brushed her lips against his forehead, whispering his name as he slowly calmed his breathing.  

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes fully, meeting hers and the understanding that he always knew would be there, even though he would never be able to explain it.  He kissed her softly, slowly, wanting to sustain this peace for as long as he could, and then finally released her lips, staying close to her.  

Her hands continued to move through his hair, massaging his head, and her lips idly brushed against his as he slid a hand down her back until he reached the top of her pants.  He kept one hand on her back as he slid the other around to the front, quickly undoing the button.  He briefly met her half-open yet surprised eyes, and her breath, hot against his mouth, escaped in increasingly rapid puffs as his hand gently inched lower, her skin almost scalding against his already warm fingers.  

She involuntarily moved her hips toward him, grinding against his hand, and as she tried to speak, her lips touched his from proximity and he consumed her murmuring with a kiss.  When he moved his hand again, she moaned loudly and broke from his mouth, sucking in a gulp of air, but his hand on her back kept her close, their lips still practically touching.  

One of her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, while the other remained tangled in his hair, her fingers gripping the strands, scraping her nails along his scalp.  She pulled tighter around his neck as she continued to move against his hand, and her breathing was even heavier now, the hot air from her mouth mixing with his own as she gasped loudly against his lips.     

After regarding her for a moment, he brushed aside some hair from her eyes and whispered, "You're so beautiful..." Her brow relaxed slightly from his words, a hint of moisture glassing over her eyes as they briefly fluttered open to look at him.  They quickly closed again and she bit her lip against the sensations he was giving her, his free hand quickly returning to cradle her back.      

He watched her jaw fall slack as she pressed the tip of her tongue against her upper lip, and when her head slowly tipped back, he leaned forward to suckle on her neck, gently kissing her skin.  Her breaths were now accompanied by traces of faint, partial words, and he gripped her back even tighter, pulling her against him, against the hand between them.  

"Jack," she managed, reminding him how good his name sounded when it came from her.  "Ohh... uhhhhh... Ja—" Another shift of his hand and her breathless words melded into a moan, and she dug her nails into his skin, eliciting a sharp but muted cry from him.  

Her hips moved a few more times before she abruptly stiffened, gripping his hair again as if she were somehow going to float away.  As she shuddered against him, her head fell forward and she suddenly kissed him forcefully, her teeth biting down on his bottom lip.  He groaned into her mouth and crushed their bodies together, his fingers digging into her back.  

When their lips finally parted, the strength finally left her body and she collapsed in his arms, panting heavily against his mouth.  They stayed like that for what seemed like a long time, both of them too breathless and spent to do much of anything but hold on to one another.  

Eventually, Jack stirred and brought a hand to her hair, smoothing it down behind one of her ears.  "Sam..." he started, mumbling against her mouth.  "Samantha," he whispered, and this time she opened her sated eyes.  His next words left on a breath so soft he barely heard it himself.  "I love you."

Even in her cloudy state of mind, she drew in a sharp breath of air, searching his eyes for something that would prove his statement, and he hoped she could see beyond the pain to the truth he knew was there.  

He was about to question what she had found when, for some reason, he silenced her with another kiss, deepening it before she could pull away and he could take it back, or before one of them could somehow tarnish the moment with any superfluous words that had the potential to hurt, or lie, or worse.  

But it didn't keep away the ache in his knee, which returned as a faint, unnoticeable sting that quickly grew into a piercing, stabbing pain, and he tried to drown it in his touch and in his kiss, his lips pressed almost violently to hers, his hands gripping her shirt, her hair, anything that might take away this unrelenting reminder of who he was and always would be.  This weakness in his body had become a sponge, soaking up 24 years' worth of things he had tried so hard to keep away.  All of his faults, everyone he couldn't save; each throb became a life he had lost, each agonizing ache the resentment from the lives that were forever changed because of him.  

The pain became excruciating but he bit his lip, stifling the cry, and suddenly she was next to him, just holding him as the words poured out.  "God, it hurts, it hurts," he whispered, over and over against her neck and until he felt a hand stroking his head, fingers tenderly moving through his hair.  And then there was a hand on his knee, warm and gentle, making slow circles around this part of him that he despised so much... this flaw, this limitation, this imperfection that would always haunt him no matter how hard he tried to purge it from his body.    

When he awoke, her living room was partially bathed in a calming pastel blue, the first light of dawn peeking its way through her blinds, slowly making its way across the room.  He was somewhat reclined against the arm of her couch and there was a warm weight on his chest, and soft, blonde hair tickled his chin.  Her head was turned to the side, her front flush to his, the rest of her settled between his legs to avoid crushing his knee.  

It still throbbed, but it was bearable, and he opted to distract himself by taking in this rare, but inevitably absconding moment of peace.  Everything always seemed so serene at dawn, even in this cacophonous, congested town, and he took a moment to look around, marveling at how different the world appeared when you seemed to catch it while it was still waking up.  For a few minutes, there were no sirens, no blaring horns, no screeching trains or roaring airplanes, no one shouting so loud it carried up the several stories to invade the stillness of the room.  

His hand idly rubbed her back and she stirred slightly, her fingers brushing against his neck as she finally opened her eyes, shifting her head to look at him.  

"Hey," he said softly.  

She closed her eyes briefly, a smile crossing her lips.  "Hey."  

"Sleep okay?"

"Mmm, hmm," she mumbled against his loosened collar.  

"Do you want some coffee or ... a bagel or something?"

He felt her chuckle slightly, and then she met his eyes.  "I think," she started, her words lethargically slurring together.  "I think... I'd like to sleep just a little bit longer."  She finished her request with a broad, close-mouthed smile, shutting her eyes as she laid her head back down onto his chest. 

He smirked and rewrapped his arms around her back, one hand combing through her hair before coming to rest between her shoulder blades.  

"Hey, Sam?"

"Mmm...?"

When he didn't continue right away, she picked up her head, her sleepy eyes still managing to be inquisitive.  

His voice was rough, as if still waiting for the morning to officially arrive before functioning properly.  "I, uh..."  He couldn't find the words he wanted, if there were any to be found at all.  

"I know," she offered in the gentlest voice she could muster at that hour.  When he looked away, frustration stiffening his mouth and furrowing his brow, she leaned up to press her lips to his for a brief but ardent kiss.  

She was satisfied when he rewarded her with a genuine smile and the touch of his fingers against her cheek.  And before she settled back down onto him, she caught his eyes again.  "I know."

(fin.)


End file.
